


57 Names For Sugar

by Poemsingreenink



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Baking, F/F, Fluff, Snarky fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:32:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5141579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poemsingreenink/pseuds/Poemsingreenink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurel bakes. Michaela tries to study. The theme after that is snarky fluff with sugary food stuffs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chocolate Chip Cookies

Laurel was baking, and the whirring of the mixer was a low, ever-present whine that filled the apartment.

“Do you think you could do that somewhere else?” Michaela asked, as sweetly as someone could ask a question through gritted teeth. She highlighted another block of text, and then looked up from where she was studying in the living room.

“If you don’t like it,” Laurel said, peering into the mixture. “You can leave.”

“This is my apartment.”

“Yep,” Laurel agreed, popping the P at the end. “It is.”

Laurel grabbed the green plastic bowl full of dry ingredients, and tipped it over the lip of the larger mixing bowl. A cloud of white mushroomed up and coated her cheeks, nose and forehead with flour.

“You’re doing that wrong,” Michaela huffed. “You’re not supposed to give yourself a facial when you make cookies.” 

Laurel wiped the flour off with the back of her hand. “Eh.”

"Fine.” Michaela corrected her posture, squaring her shoulders and straightening her spine before dropped her eyes back to her book. “You make them however you like."

There was a crack and Michaela's head shot up just in time to see Laurel add the continents of a broken egg to the bowl. 

“That is also wrong." Michaela set the book to the side and tucked her highlighter behind her ear. "You were supposed to mix the eggs with just the butter and the sugar.” 

She pushed herself away from the couch, and marched into the kitchen as Laurel tore open a bag of chocolate chips. Laurel smiled wolfishly at her and offered her first crack at the open bag. Michaela tipped her chin up, and crossed her arms over her chest. Laurel shrugged, grabbed a handful of chips and threw them into the mixer. A few bounced back out and went skipping across the tile floor. 

"There are bits of egg shell in there," Michaela said.

"A nice surprise crunch."

"Are you also going to add ground glass? Who are these even for?" 

Laurel’s hand darted in and out of the bowl. They just barely missed getting caught by the sill spinning flat beater. She offered her cookie-dough coated fingers to Michaela with a smirk. 

“Want a taste?”

Michaela narrowed her eyes, even as Laurel’s smirk grew wider.

“Little taste?” Laurel pouted. “Tiny little taste?”

“There is absolutely nothing erotic about sucking on your fingers,” Michaela said, flatly. “That’s not going to happen.”

Laurel slumped dramatically and then licked the bit of cookie dough off herself. 

“Huh, I was right,” Michaela said. “Nothing erotic about those fingers.”

Laurel darted forward, her free arm wrapping around the other woman's waist. She pulled her flush against her and kissed her hard. Michaela rolled her eye, but kissed her back. When they broke apart Laurel quickly kissed the tip of her nose, even as her hands moved to skim the waist of Michaela’s skirt. They dipped over the side and began to run small circles around Michaela’s belly making the other woman shiver. 

“Bet I can make you change your mind,” Laurel said. 

“Don’t you have cookies to make?” Michaela countered. 

Laurel shrugged. “Nah, who would eat those? There's bits of egg shell in them.”


	2. Caramel Apples

There were leaves the color of old blood pressed against Laurel’s bedroom window. It matched the color of the dress Michaela had left on the floor, a puddle of silk and shimmer against the white carpet. A steady rain, cold and unfriendly had kept them inside all day, but Laurel kept the heat so high that when they’d finished Michaela kicked the blankets to the floor without reaching for any of her clothes.

“I like your breasts, Laurel,” Michaela murmured. She wiggled into a more comfortable position, and rested her face on the other woman’s chest. “They’re very soft.”

“Yes,” Laurel agreed. “That’s how you can tell they’re real.”

Michaela snorted. “Cute.”

“Have you wanted to have your face in my boobs for a while now?” Laurel asked.

“Not until after I’d touched them,” Michaela admitted, so sleepy and warm that she let the words fall out. “Now I think about them a lot.”

Laurel laughed. “Specifically pressing your face into them?” 

Michaela felt Laurel’s hand slide down her shoulder, skimming across the skin. 

“I need my phone,” Laurel said. “I need to text everyone I’ve ever met, and let them know that Michaela Pratt gets off on motor boating me.”

“Do not call it that! We are not frat brothers or, god, _Asher_. “

Laurel wrinkled her nose. “If you ever want to have sex with me again, you will never invoke Asher Millstone post coital. What are you going to do next talk about Connor?”

“No!”

“It would be like being watched by a cat,” Laurel mused. “A really judgmental cat with a pound of hair gel in its fur.” 

Michaela sat up. “That’s it no more pillow talk we’ve ruined it.” 

She climbed out of the bed, and then padded across the room stepping neatly over Laurel’s skirt and heels as she went. 

“Wait. You’re leaving?” Laurel asked. “Don’t leave.” 

Michaela turned, but only caught the tail end of hurt before it completely fled Laurel’s face. It made her pause, this new piece of information, but not for long. She’d have time to puzzle over it later, turn it over in her hands and figure out exactly when she’d gained the ability to wound Laurel Castillo. Especially since she wasn’t all that sure Laurel had the same power over her. 

“No, no,” Michaela said, briskly. “But I think we need a pallet cleanser after that conversation, and I bought these on my way over.”

She bent over her bag, and was a little surprised that Laurel didn’t wolf-whistle from the view, because Laurel was a dork like that. 

“Here we are,” Michaela said, presenting Laurel with two neatly wrapped caramel apples. “You can pretend that Frank is the only one with a sweet tooth, but I’ve seen you with that bag of suckers. I figured you’d appreciate one of these.”

Laurel tilted her head, and her hair tumbled over a shoulder that still held the outline of Michaela’s teeth. 

“They’re onyx.” 

The apples were wrapped in plastic, and the silver ribbons keeping the bags closed matched the silver bats stamped along the sides. There were tips of green at the top where the stick met the fruit, and the bottoms were cradled in dainty white paper. The caramel was pitch black. 

“It’s food coloring.” Michaela said, pulling the wrapping off and untying the ribbons. “You know those Pinterest moms. Always up to something.”

She kissed Laurel as she handed her an apple, quick and fast and little apologetic. Joining her in bed Michaela crawled to the headboard, and then tugged and guided Laurel until she was sitting between her legs, back against her chest. 

Michaela took a bite of the treat, the tart taste of the green apple and the sweet caramel blending together. The wind picked up, and the raindrops pinned another splash of crimson to the glass. The reminder of the chill outside made Michaela wrap an arm around Laurel’s middle and pull her closer. 

“Just in case you were curious,” Laurel said, around a mouthful of caramel. “Your breasts are nice too.”

“Yes, I know.”


	3. Whipped Cream

Laurel's hot chocolate had gone cold. Something she noticed only after she’d taken a sip and gotten a nose full of the melting whipped cream. She snorted a little, eyes stinging, and put the mug down so she could blow her nose on one of the red and gold edged Christmas napkins they'd eaten hours-devours off earlier.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" her mother asked. "Do you want me to make you more hot chocolate?"

Laurel snorted again, and hoped it still looked like she was trying to dislodge processed sugar from up her nose. Her mother did not 'make' food. She did not 'prepare' food. Most days she didn't even 'touch' food which hadn't changed in the time Laurel'd been gone. The three marshmallows bobbing in her mother's mug were still splashing against the same section of porcelain they'd first connected with when added an hour ago. 

_You don't realize it now, Laurel. But keeping your figure will be harder when you’re older. You have to be watchful._

"No, I'm good," Laurel said, and leaned against the counter. 

Michaela cradled her own empty mug in her palms, and shook her head when Laurel’s mother turned to her. 

"I'm fine Mrs. Castillo, but thank you," Michaela said.

Laurel wished Michaela had requested a refill. Watching her mother use the kitchen stove would have made the entire trip home worth it. 

"Well, if you want anything while you're here," Mrs. Castillo said, turning to place a hand on the younger woman's arm. "Really, anything. You tell me."

Michaela beamed, Laurel's mother beamed back and not for the first time that week Laurel wondered what sort of Christmas miracle she was witnessing. 

It wasn't like she'd walked through the door and made some sort of announcement regarding Michaela. There wasn't anything to announce, and even then if she wanted to cause havoc she’d have waited until Castillo Christmas dinner. Still, Laurel had expected some kind of push-back. Michaela wasn't a proclamation, but she also wasn't a secret. Laurel had drawn a clear line in the sand the moment she'd dropped Michaela's bags in her room instead of one of the seven guest bedrooms that were scattered around the house. 

With boyfriends of Christmas past that move had gotten her lectures. With girlfriends, a pinched, cold attitude that took weeks to disappear. With Michaela she was getting hot chocolate girl talk with her mother at midnight. 

"I just wish you could convince Laurel to dress and nicely as you do," her mother cooed. "A successful women needs to look like a success."

Her mother had been _cooing_ at Michaela all week. At her grades, at her clothes, at her hair, at her wit, at the wine she'd brought them. If Laurel didn’t know any better she’d say her mother liked Michaela.

"You girls could open a practice together,” her mother said, suddenly. “Castillo-Pratt Attorneys at Law! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“I think you mean Pratt-Castillo,” Michaela said. 

Her mother laughed and Michaela laughed, but Laurel knew it wasn’t a joke. She reached for the can of whipped cream tipped her head back and filled her mouth. Michaela looked horrified. So did her mother. 

Laurel swallowed. “I’m sorry. I’m just getting kind of tired. Michaela, you want to head to bed?”

“Laurel,” Michaela’s smile was hard, and Laurel returned it. “We can’t just leave your mother alone in the kitchen to clean up.”

Laurel snorted again, and this time didn’t try to hide anything. There was a maid waiting behind one of these corners. 

“Oh there’s nothing to worry about,” Laurel’s mother said. “You girls get some sleep.”

Michaela looked unsure for a moment, but then set her mug on the counter top. “If you insist.”

Mrs. Castillo shooed her toward the door. “I do. I do.”

“You’re going to brush your teeth when we get up there right?” Michaela said, softly as she passed, and Laurel felt the tips of her ears burn. She turned to join her, but stopped when her mother’s hand touched her shoulder. Feather light, but it still kept her stationary. 

“If you marry that girl,” her mother said, softly and if Laurel knew her at all with a careful smile still plastered across her face. “Your name goes first.”

Michaela paused at the doorway and looked at Laurel expectantly. 

" _Laurel_ ,” her mother insisted. “Work is one thing, but marriage is another. Your. Name. First.” 

Laurel grabbed the entire whipped cream can, and shoved five snow man-shaped sugar cookies into the pocket of her robe. One good burst of speed got her away from her mother and she ushered Michaela out of the kitchen. 

“¡ _Buenas noches, mama_!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was more Spanish in here at one point, but then I needed Laurel's mom to say more than one line, and my Spanish is not good. So to spare all of you a horrible translation I took it out. 
> 
> In case you're curious, I too have a tumblr: http://poemsingreenink.tumblr.com/


End file.
